Anywhere
by tromperie
Summary: Once upon a time, Rapunzel decided to run away from the Corona castle, and once upon that same time, Flynn Rider decided to make a comeback.


Of all the things in the kingdom, Rapunzel chose to bring _The Tales of Flynnigan Rider, _three dresses, a handful of apples, Pascal, seven grapes for Pascal, her sketchbook, a hairbrush, and, of course, her frying pan.

"It's not a lot," she remarks to Pascal, who's sitting on her shoulder and eyeing the nearly empty satchel with a disapproving glare. He's a resolute shade of brown, the color of Rapunzel's hair, sitting like a glob of mud above the puffy lace of Rapunzel's pale nightgown. It's a short one, a thin one, one that's nearly sheer and hangs at her knees- one she can easily rip into strips and use as a tourniquet -_or something-_ later. And that's helpful, isn't it? But no, not according to Pascal. The chameleon crosses his arms and shakes his head- because _no!- _it is certainly not a lot, and certainly not enough. A sketchbook? To protect her in the forest- and who knew what was in the forest? Thugs? Ruffians? At the very best, she could hit them with the frying pan- but, then again, it didn't work too well on the thick ones. She might as well throw in a few blocks of wood, because everything inside is useless. Well, except for the grapes. Grapes are useful.

Rapunzel bites her lip and wonders if this is going to work.

_It's not, _Pascal says.

She sighs. It's a sad sigh. A sagging sigh, a sigh that hangs like the last breath of a dying bird in Rapunzel's bedroom. And the heavy feeling of remorse begins to grow in Pascal's miniature stomach, but there's not much he can do other than turn a pleasant shade of vermillion, scuttle down her leg, and curl around her ankle reassuringly. _But you can still try... right?_

She doesn't reply. There's nothing to say to that- because yes, she can try!- she can try it, just like she tried whiskey with Hookhand, just like she tried arm wrestling with Eugene, just like she tried living in the castle with the King and Queen- and they were all good tries, she knows!- but just like all of those tries, it might not work. She might not like it. She might not win. She might not survive.

"I miss Eugene," Rapunzel whispers.

Which is silly, because Eugene's only one floor and three rooms away.

He's close enough that she could sneak into his room without anyone noticing. She's small enough to stick to the walls, to hide in the nooks and crannies and creaky old passageways of the castle without being caught- why can't she? It wouldn't be hard. A guilty flutter of hope builds in Rapunzel's chest where her lungs should be. Maybe he can come alo-

_No._

And Rapunzel's not sure if that's her own mind or Pascal's imaginary voice.

"Come on," she murmurs, sweeping Pascal off her ankle and dropping him back on her shoulder. She leans forwards, blocking the moonlight from her pack, and slides the satchel over her shoulder. It has a warm smell- like twinkling silver and wanted posters and the sly hands of thieves- a smell that reminds her inexplicable of the man she's stolen it from. Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to pick this one, after all, regardless of sentimental value. "We're going."

Pascal nuzzles his small head into her neck and reverts to green, the color he becomes when he has nothing to say at all. Well, in this case, he has things to say- but... he just can't say them.

Rapunzel slips out of the room like mist, hanging close to the dark walls, shying away from the windows that brim unabashedly with tears of white light. She can see Corona outside, winking at her from inside firelit homes and hanging lanterns, but it only tugs at an empty spot in her stomach where emotion might have been. At a different time. Before. The only feeling that lingers now is regret. Because Rapunzel knows. She knows, even as she tiptoes barefoot down waterfalls of stairs and around curved silver doors, that this will hurt her parents.

It won't hurt them the way that tripping over the hem of her ball gown and cutting herself had. It won't burn in the same way that trying to touch those magical, flickering flames in the fireplace had. It won't sting like the hooked barbs of the fat, tiny striped bugs- _bees- _had. It won't smart like the edge of a knife on the corner of her mouth when she tried to use it in the place of a fork. It won't prickle like the thorns of that rosebush in that delightfully surprising way- No. This kind pain is different, something that hurts inside. It runs deeper than all the bruises and cuts in the world- deep, like the golden flower that had bled its golden sunlight into her bloodstream. Deep.

So why is she doing this? Hasn't her one wish always been to belong?

_Yes._

And now she belongs. She fits like the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle, like an egg within a nest, like butter on toast. _So why am I here? _And why is she here, standing on the first-floor landing of the castle with her dress hiked up to her knees and Eugene's leathery brown satchel hanging like the hair she misses so badly against her back? Why is she doing this? Rapunzel squeezes her eyes shut and digs her teeth into her lip and forces herself to_ think, Rapunzel, before you do something stupid._

Pascal pokes her neck.

It's hard to think when she feels so empty. Because it's not sadness or longing or desperation- it's nothing. Emptiness, neither cold nor warm. There are no feelings, because emptiness is the absence of everything.

Pascal pokes her again, this time with a bit of claw.

And that's the thing. There's so much outside- so much that it makes her feel empty inside. But before, in the sweet, lonely tower, it was the other way around. Back then it had been Rapunzel brimming with life, and the tower there to store it for her.

Pascal chirps.

"Shh." She brushes him off her shoulder and he slides down the slippery blue silk of her nightgown until he lands in the crook of her elbow. Indignant but resolute, Pascal gets to his feet, dusts himself off, takes a deep breath, and bites Rapunzel.

"Ow!" she gasps, jumping and dropping the bundle of dress that had been clenched so tightly in her hand. Rapunzel glares at Pascal, something she hasn't done since he tasted Eugene's ear when he had been teaching Rapunzel how to pick locks. "What was that for?" The words are an unnatural hiss, something that shouldn't be coming out her mouth, but Pascal only sits up straight and points with his tail towards the end of the hallway.

Rapunzel's eyes follow obediently. And there it is- a window that's wide open from the outside, inviting the breeze into the castle; wind pushes past the translucent silver curtains and makes them glow like gossamer lanterns as they float dreamily. It's open carefully, not splayed wildly but delicately, quietly. She slides one trembling hand up her arm and wonders what's the best thing to do. What are her options? She can continue escaping, and- no, that won't work, Rapunzel knows, because what if it's a psychotic ruffian or a thug coming to slaughter everyone?- she'd feel guilty. She can get the Guards- but that's not an option either, seeing as they'll probably want to know what she's doing up so late with a bag full of _escaping supplies _latched around her shoulder. And there's the last option, something that definitely seems more inviting than the rest- she can go look out the window. Perhaps there'll be some clues.

Pascal squeaks with terror and tugs frantically at her hair as Rapunzel strides towards the swaying curtains. No, no, no- this is _not _what he had in mind. Go back, go back, go-

"What are you doing?"

It's Eugene.

Eugene is standing out there, on the red-shingled tower rooftop that sits precariously outside of the window, wearing his original unwashed Flynn Rider garb, staring out with his back turned to Rapunzel. Outside, moonlight skips across the tiny tiles of the tower, pouring like water over the clean, smooth shapes of the castle; it washes over Corona like water like milk, clean and calm and perpetually patient. But despite all of it, Eugene starts and spins on his boot and faces Rapunzel with dumbstruck horror dancing in his eyes.

"Wh... what?" he asks lamely.

Rapunzel adjusts the satchel strap around her shoulder and pops a hip. The first strainings of confidence begin to form at the base of her skull. "What are you doing?" What _is_ he doing?

Eugene's eyes drop to the shingles he's standing on, red in daytime and black at nighttime, bewildered, as if he's just realized where he is. _Maybe he did just realize,_ Rapunzel muses to herself; _he could have been sleepwalking. _Pascal's started to do it sometimes- mostly at mealtime. He eats grapes in his sleep, which can't be healthy, but the sous-chef in the kitchen told her that waking up a sleepwalker is bad luck, so she doesn't stop him. It's happening with increasing frequency nowadays. And sleep-smiling? Strange.

Eugene's about to say something when the fact registers that Rapunzel's standing there. At midnight. In her shortest silk nightgown. He looks her up and down and then raises an eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same thing."

She straightens, stiff as the Captain of Guards' mustache. "I asked you first."

"It wouldn't look good for the princess to be out this late."

She doesn't like the mischievous Flynn Rider twinkle in his eye.

"It wouldn't look good for a renounced thief to be out this late, either." Ha.

The light disappears from his eyes at once, replaced by the moonlight's gentle gleam that means nothing except the fact that's he's alive. Rapunzel shudders and remembers for a second what Eugene looks like dead. It's not like this, thankfully- and then she pushes the thought far, far from her mind, like Pascal rolling apples off the table when the king and queen aren't looking.

Eugene sighs and looks at the neckline of Rapunzel's gown, which hangs loosely just beneath her shoulders. She suddenly feels self-conscious and hikes the satchel's strap upwards in an effort to cover her pale, bare skin. And she immediately regrets it, because Eugene's eyes fly like hawks to the scrap of brown leather.

"Oh hell," he says, eyes widening in disbelief, taking a step closer. "Is that... is that _my satchel_?"

Her grip tightens on it as she nods.

His brown eyes lock with her green ones and suddenly Rapunzel feels like he _knows- _he knows what she's done, what's she's doing, what's she's going to do; he knows everything, and now that her worst fears have been confirmed, she can't help but nurture the tiny, guilty sprout in her stomach that wishes that Eugene will step into the castle, sweep her off her feet, tell her that he loves her, and sit with her all night to make sure she doesn't run away. Because Rapunzel's not going to lie- that would be lovely, sweet beyond belief, something that she's read in the books in the library- tales of passionate suitors with bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolate and endless streams of fiery kisses-

"That's mine. And I want it back."

... and she's a princess, so how in the world, out of all of those men, did she end up with this one?

"No." Her voice is startlingly firm. She draws back from his outstretched hand.

Eugene face contorts as if everything that he doesn't believe in has just sprung to life, dancing like a dewy-eyed deer before him. He pulls his hand back towards him and glances at the moon, like it will give him advice. "Why?"

Pascal's tail forces Rapunzel to tilt her chin up. "It's a thief's satchel." Eugene owns it, and he isn't a thief anymore... but Flynn Rider was a thief. Her hands slide up and down the strap of the satchel. It smells like Eugene. Painfully so.

"...and?"

"And I stole it from you, and now it's mine." There.

He raises one eyebrow. "Is that right?" And suddenly the entire topic of the stolen satchel blows from his eyes, replaced by something slightly different. Eugene raises his eyes and nods in its direction. "What's inside?"

She glances at it- there's a slight bulge where her frying pan should be. She resists the urge to pick it up and throw it at him- throw it at Eugene, the worst lover in the whole world- if that word even applies to him. And Rapunzel knows that this isn't a good time to mentally bring up the topic, but it's been nagging her. She lifts her eyes back to Eugene, and suddenly the swooning women in those books snicker. _How did she end up with that one? _they whisper. _He's a real pain in the neck, isn't he? Poor girl._

"Things." is her painfully articulate answer. Pascal nods approvingly.

"I see."

They stare at each other awkwardly: Rapunzel inside with the chilly wind blowing in her face, brushing against her choppy brown locks; Eugene standing on the rooftop in his dirty, bloodstained blue vest, with one puzzled hand tangled in his hair and another sitting uselessly in his pocket. They're the gawky tower girl with skinny ankles and the cocky thief with a worthless smolder all over again- _just like old times._

"So... are you planning to leave?"

Rapunzel stares at Eugene expectantly.

"Um." His gaze drifts from her to the glittering city. "Were you?"

"Maybe."

Pascal scrapes his tiny claws across her collarbone with frustration. He looks up from the bottom of her head expectantly, a curtain of brown behind him and a curtain of silk in front of him, and wonders why she just can't pick herself up and move on. She's like a mouse watching a cat- fearful but prepared, knowing that she's going to have to run but waiting for an attack first. Pascal, who has been friends with many mice before their unfortunate deaths, knows this look well. And it doesn't look very good on Rapunzel's face- not at all.

Eugene shrugs. "Okay."

There's no way to reply to that without sounding weak.

"Okay," she repeats stupidly, cursing herself inside. "I'm not stopping you."

The ghost of a frown crosses Eugene's face, and the tiny monster inside of Rapunzel cheers wildly. _Yes, make him regret it. Make him feel bad._

"And neither am I," he says suddenly, pleasantly; "but where could you possibly go?"

Rapunzel shrugs. "Lots of places. The Snuggly Duckling... the forest..." And the last thing that she says chokes her. "... the tower." She clears her throat and, as Pascal nudges her again, forces herself to ask one last question before she heads on her way. "Where are you planning to go?"

"Anywhere." And that's not the gentle voice of Eugene, but the adventure-lusting voice of Flynn, who has finally emerged, like a baby chick cracking through its shell; "I could go anywhere." And in those four words are weeks of impatience, of struggles and temptation, of the stuffy castle life and the squeak of polished shoes on polished floors; weeks of the Guards' watchful eyes; weeks of sitting down for meals and getting up early, of things being orderly and quiet; weeks of choking down sarcastic comments and spitting out _please _and _thank you_ and pretending to care.

Weeks of hating the castle.

And why? Why would he stay somewhere he hated? Flynnigan Rider does not stay in places that he hates. He moves on- and Rapunzel knows this from the book- with new sword, a new girl, and the same jaded attitude.

The thought is strange and tempting, like a dream that's just out of reach when Rapunzel wakes up, a dream she vows to grab onto next time- _because of me._

Because Rapunzel wanted to stay with her parents.

Because Rapunzel had to live in the castle.

Because Rapunzel is the princess.

Because of Rapunzel.

Because.

And suddenly chocolate and dancing and bunches of vividly-colored roses mean nothing, they are senseless and useless and empty, and suddenly her heart is swelling rapidly inside of her chest, and suddenly everything makes sense and it snaps into place and suddenly there's everything blooming and bursting in front of her and suddenly she can't breathe and she's choking and then, slowly, there's nothing but a single path that she must travel.

"Anywhere." Rapunzel speaks slowly, stepping into the moonlight and leaning against the doorframe. "Sounds like a nice place to me."

Eugene's mouth positions itself into an unsure smile. "Yeah, I've never been there before, but people say it's great."

Rapunzel returns the smile.

"I've always wanted to visit anywhere."

"Yeah?"

"And if it's on the way..."

"It's the destination, babe." Eugene grins crookedly and extends a hand.

Rapunzel slides her fingers into his and he pulls her onto the roof, cold and welcoming under the soles of her bare feet. She follows him as he creeps around to the other sides of the tower. As he slides down water chutes. As he climbs up trellises and into crannies. Even as he slips that last inch into the grass, even as he breaks into a thief's run under the stars, Rapunzel follows him. Because she knows that, despite everything, she would follow him to any place he could think of- any place in the world, no matter how hot or cold or frightening- because, though she hates to admit it, Rapunzel would follow Eugene Fitzherbert anywhere.


End file.
